October
by keleos
Summary: A collection of OneShot fics from perspectives of different characters and different relationships. There's one at hand. More later. Why October? Think autumn, red and melancholic chill. R&R please!


To dad   
You never really know the impact you've made in my life, and you never will, for it is unmeasurable in numbers and statistics alone.

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Dislcaimer: I own nothing recognisable. :) Song is "You raise me up" by Secret Garden (or Josh Groban if you like).

* * *

She ran.

The wind was in her hair, and it looked as if a streak of fire was passing as it flapped feely, betraying the emotions raging within her entity. On a normal day, this wind would have had been welcome – it reflected her carefree spirit, her passion for life, her affinity with the natural elements surrounding her – yet today it seemed to impede her movements, to break her speed; the rhythm of her feet beating against the concrete pavement was uncertain and irregular.

_**When I am down, and oh my soul so weary,**_

_Spring was in the air. Flowers were in full bloom, the scent filling the air, the grass was exceptionally green, exceptionally lush, exceptionally fresh. Birds were in the trees, singing joyous songs, crowning the glory of a perfect spring morning._

_She was five, innocent and untainted, running amongst the trees and rolling in the grass, having a glorious time just getting muddy and filthy. A couple followed behind her, hand in hand, monitoring her pursuits of royal muddiness with smiles on the faces._

"_Ray, if you're going to continue that, you're going to ruin another of those frocks! Honestly, can't you…"_

"_Let her, Jean," Scott Summers attempted to pacify his wife. "Really, spring comes only once a year."_

_The brilliant redhead looked at her daughter, then at her husband, before throwing her hands and giving a sigh in mock exasperation. Aside, Scott Summers threw his daughter a wink and grinned as she returned it, then continued to roll in grass and mud, squealing in delight._

_**When troubles come, and my heart burdened be.**_

The bus would have taken too long a time. Or at least, she had tried, but to no avail. As a bus zoomed past her, she felt a sense of dread, of guilt, or regret. Yet, she reached one stop after another, and stood at each for five second, glancing at her watch as each second passed her by. It was then that she understood that she could not bear to stand idle, waiting for a bus of a cab to take her to her destination. This was her own path, her own road, and she had to walk it.

This time, though, alone.

_**Then I am still, and wait here in the silence.**_

_Ray fell face down into the sand pit, feeling herself tripping and dropping forward, hitting it with a sickening thud. It did not, now, seem like such a bad idea to listen to her father and not run about on the pavement slippery from the rain. Now not only had she to face up to the pain herself, but also endure her father's wrath for her blatant disobedience. Ray picked herself up, tugging slightly at her skirt, her knees and palms smarting from the impact of the fall, hurting more as she tried to stand. Willing herself not to cry, she walked with her eyes on the ground, towards her father, who stood a few steps away._

_It must have been unsuccessful, for Scott Summers' facial expression changed from one of grim solemness to one of concern. He walked over, picked her up, and then sat her on his shoulders, allowing her to bounce up and down as he piggybacked her. Within moments, the child was smiling through her tears, pain forgotten._

"_Let's go home," was all he said._

_**Until you come, and sit a while with me.**_

Just another bend, another corner. She could feel her heart pounding, the lactic acid building up in her muscles, causing a strain. What seemed effortless before seemed to take much willpower today to achieve, and instantly, from the moment she had began to run, she knew that it was due more to her emotions than her physical state. The mansion was in sight now; it gates were glinting in sunlight that peeked through thick clouds. She approached, and they opened to her upon her arrival, as if heralding her in.

She was home.

_**There is no life – no life without its hunger.**_

"_Run!"_

_A scream broke the silence of the evening calm. For a moment it seemed like the setting sun, but it was not. The blaze erupted from a burning house by the lake, dyeing the sky, clouds and lake reflection a brilliant shade of vermillion._

"_Run!" There was a mad scramble that could be heard from within amongst the chaos, rattling through the crackling flames. "Get Ray out of here!" Scott Summers had both pain and longing in his eyes, but they were hidden safely behind the pair of shades he had worn ever since he had lost total control. Like now._

"_This is your promise to me," he drew himself close to Jean's face, shaking her, then giving her a sharp push to the door. A beam behind crashed, sending sparks flying. Another threatened to collapse. Yet, the moment it fell and almost crushing the girl in the process, a strong, solid beam of laser shot forth and crumble it into splinters._

"_Go!" He urged again, this time with more panic in his voice. Against her will, she felt herself bound by an inexplicable force of energy, pulling her out of the door, out of harm's way. A scream of horror escaped her lip, and the house that stood minutes ago came crashing to the ground, engulfed in flames._

_**Each restless heart beats so imperfectly.**_

The sitting room was mostly silent, except for the movement and murmurs of a few random students. She entered the room to immediate, almost stifling silence, greeted only with the hugs and kisses of Storm and Kitty who brought her aside. They sat, and she mechanically did the same, her mind obviously somewhere far from the room.

"We though you might like to know what happened before…" Storm started kindly, but her voice trailed off. Unable to suppress her emotions, she buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Feeling a sense of pity, coupled with the fact that she could truly empathise with her, she caught Storm in an embrace. "I'm so glad you're home, Ray."

Once the nerves had been soothed slightly, Storm began the conversation, with her and Kitty listening, sitting side by side, comforted b each other's presence.

"It began that evening. We received a strange call. The caller sounded frantic, screaming over the phone about ships and alien material. He never identified himself, and under normal circumstances we would have treated it as a prank call," Storm let out a sigh. "It was strange, but Scott insisted we check it out."

"We travelled to the area – desolate and quiet, though nothing seemed amiss. It was only when we saw the crash landing site that we began to believe that it could've actually happened."

_**But when you come and I am filled with wonder.**_

_The rains came and went, but the mass was still smoking, as if mocking the inhabitants who now sat on the wet grass outside; Jean giving the wreck a thoughtless stare and her daughter walking around aimlessly, eyes swollen and puffy from the crying she had done._

"_I warned him." It was a voice, and it came from a young, brown haired and particularly arrogant looking man. "It's a miracle you didn't go with him." He laughed, and it was hollow, resounding with hate and loathing. "So, it's your turn now."_

_Jean had thrown her arms over her daughter, instinctively, semi-conscious that she was all that was left of Scott and hoping to protect her from what was to come in a frantic, last minute attempt. Ray, on the other hand, wriggled free of the grasp and charged forward, hungry for sweet revenge._

"_You killed my father!" She screamed, hate evident in her young eyes that stung with bitter tears. He let out a cynical laugh, but, as if struck by an energy that was too great to handle, his eyes grew wide and he shot backwards, hitting a tree in a distance. Ray was too involved to realise what she had done, subconsciously, and continued her attack, this time throwing him forward, almost killing him in the process._

"_Stop!"_

_Ray herself now looked like she had been hit by a stone, and she whirled around, desperately looking for the source of the voice. _

"_Stop!"_

_It came again, this time stronger and clearer. The young girl turned, and saw what she would have only dared to classify as a memory._

_At that moment, she gave up all thoughts of hate and revenge. Only stopping to think and process the sudden appearance for a second, she went screaming toward the man she called her father. The young man took the opportunity to escape, scrambling away, but this time, Ray let him._

_He embraced her, throwing her upwards, smile visible now through her tears, then catching her again. Conscious for the first time of her new found powers, she plucked a blade of grass off the ground, and watched it float around_

_The world was beautiful again._

_**Sometimes I think I glimpse eternity.**_

She allowed her mind to drift away, thinking of the happier times she had in her life. Almost painfully, she tore herself away from her thoughts, zooming back into the harsh reality that she currently resided in. If only…

Storm's voice was emotionless now, difficult for someone who had been so passionate about living her life and living it up so that it was worth it. "He took to the wreckage – we all did – but he ventured into the cockpit itself. We were worried for him, the whole atmosphere seemed to be covered with some dread, some form of evil that we couldn't see, but could only feel that it was there."

"We didn't want him to go further than that, but Scott didn't listen." She paused, eyes closed. "He went further and further in, until we could hear him any longer, not even Logan – no footsteps, no commands, not even a whisper. We were calling and calling for him, but there was no answer." Her voice rose in agitation of the memory. "It was a full five minutes before Logan decided to make entry, but by then, he had staggered out of the ship."

"His clothes were intact; there was no evidence of fighting. There couldn't have been any, since we didn't hear anything. The only thing missing was his visors, and his eyes were shut. He came out, like he was weakened by something that was within the ship, and collapsed to the ground."

"It was only two days later that he finally awoke, and it seemed to us that nothing was the matter. And really, Ray, nothing seemed to be the matter. He went on missions, commanded us all like he would at all times, and looked like he was perfectly normal. Two days ago, he crashed to the ground halfway through a session in the danger room, forehead hot and teeth chattering."

She sat there, motionless, listening intently while Kitty stole glances at her to ensure that she was alright. That was Kitty for you, always looking out for her friend more than herself – it must have hurt too, Scott treated Kitty as a daughter, even before she left. Storm continued to talk, but she could not bear any longer to listen.

Hank had diagnosed the strange illness as a cold and stress, but the next day, despite medication and ice baths, the fever never abated. It was then that Storm told Hank what happened at the crash site, and the furry, blue doctor allowed himself to sit.

"There's nothing we can do, Ororo." He had said, settling down from the rush of getting the temperature down before it did any damage to Scott's brain. "It's a virus, one that comes from a world other than this world we know. I've seen it before – its victims waste away, going into nothing but an empty shell, and once the life has gone…" His voice trailed away, but they all knew what he was talking about.

"Sorry."

Storm opened her eyes, looking at her for some sort of a reaction. There was none. They sat in silence for what seemed like eternity, and then she spoke, for the first time today, her voice sounding terse and tight in her throat.

"I want to see him."

Storm hesitated. Scott had not wanted her to tell any of this to his daughter, hoping that she would remember him as he was before, a good, loving father who could do everything, and anything for her. But a pat on the shoulder for Kitty said it all – he was her father, and she had the right to see him. Maybe, for the last time.

"He's in his room." Was all Storm heard herself say.

_**You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains.**_

_It was summer, and everything seemed warm and bright, and Ray was feeling exactly that way. It was tough going away to boarding school (or so her parents preferred to call the school branch in Boston), without being able to see her parents on a regular basis, and boy, did she miss home. She ran onto the driveway of the mansion, spontaneously kicking her shoes off and running barefooted in the warm summer air. If spring was good, then summer was brilliant._

_She entered the house, expecting everyone to be up and about their daily routine of school and teaching, but she was met with a deathly silence. The busy, noisy routine that she had been looking forward to seemed non-existent. She didn't have to be a telepath to realise that something was wrong; something was amiss._

_They were congregated at the meeting room, she saw with her mind's eyes, an oddity these days since the new mutant known as Gambit had set the premise for the dining area to become the unofficial meeting place for all of them. Taking the steps two at a time, she ran up to the third level, her mood considerably more sombre._

_She didn't need to reach the third level to meet her father. He was there, on the second, staring into space, as if knowing that she was about to arrive and waiting for her there like he used to in her younger days. Yet, he seemed surprised to see that she was standing before him, standing awkwardly and staring at her to acknowledge her presence._

"_Ray…" He was loss for words for a moment. "I thought you wouldn't be back until the week before the term started again." He looked at her, and then averted his eyes._

"_Though I'd come and give you all a surprise." She said. "What's the matter?" She walked over to her father, eyes filled with concern._

_She looked so much like Jean; Cyclops tried to take his mind off the matter, but failed miserably. "Ray, there's something you need to know," he started. It was painful to him, and it would be to her, but he had to break the news._

"_You mother," he continued. "She died two days ago." He couldn't have put it in a nicer way. His heart was hurting. His head was hurting. Loss for words. Confusion. Pain. Longing, sadness, illusions. He closed his eyes in agony, not wanting to see her response, not wanting to hurt her any further._

_Ray stood shocked at the news. She stared at her father, waiting for a smile and a laugh and a hug, and then Jean would appear and say that her father had an odd sense of humour. But none came. Not even comfort or solace from her father; he was too anguished to speak. She took a step forward, wanting to tell him that he still had her; she was still his girl, and that she loved him, very, very much. It was only then…_

"_Love?" There was a voice. "You're expected in… oh, hello Rachel."_

_She looked to the direction of the voice, only to see Emma Frost. In a moment of confusion, she looked back to her father for an answer to this, but he only looked back at her, eyes telling her that she needed to see this as his form of comfort, his form of maintaining his sanity, his form of replacement._

_She backed away, not responding to the calls of her name, from her father, Emma, and later Kitty and Logan. Ray shook her head, trying to clear it, and hoping that after the dizziness wore off, it would be but a bad dream and she was still back at the Boston Academy. But nothing of that sort happened, and she paused, spinning around and lashing out at everyone that stood before her._

"_How long?" She asked, green eyes flashing with anger that she never knew she had. "How long has this been going on?" She stopped for a second. "Ever since mother was still alive, isn't it? I don't see why you're here shedding tears for her now that she's dead when you don't bother cherishing her in the first place! What does she mean to you? What do I mean to you?" She meant now to cause as much pain as possible to the man that she loved so much moments ago. "You are an insult to mother's memory."_

_She turned her back on the group, not wanting to look at Scott's face, now contorted with the agony that her words had caused him. He lowered his head, suddenly feeling isolated, suddenly feeling lost, and not having any drive or seeing any reason to defend his actions. She tilted her head a little to the side, and then spoke in a harsh whisper that rang in his ears for a long time afterward._

"_I don't have a despicable being like you as a father."_

_Then she ran._

_**You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas.**_

Her hand was on the brass knob. She hesitated for a moment, as if willing herself to turn it, then finally rotated the knob in a clockwise direction, allowing the door to open with a small click.

He was there, sitting by the window, watching the movement outside like he was used to. Nothing had changed about him, she observed, a little surprised at the calmness that washed over her even though her heart was beating like it was out of control inside. His behaviour, his actions, his stubbornness that caused him to land in this state in the first place. Nothing. Not even the furniture had change, something she was extremely surprised at, since Emma's taste had been rather different from that of her mother.

Emma. She was the one thing, and only thing that made her want to reverse her decision and turn back immediately. The very thought of that woman disgusted her, and over the years, subconsciously, she had made Emma the cause of all her problems, from failed danger rooms sessions to the inability to control her temper at times. Emma, Emma, Emma. She understood that it was childish, but she wanted to know that her father was not to blame for all this jazz going on, but someone else.

She approached, quietly, as if she did not want him to know that she was there in the first place. But he had heard her.

"If it's Ororo or Hank or whoever, I'm fine, don't worry." The voice sounded tired and utterly worn out after years of battling it out. And then, as if as an afterthought. "If its Emma, go away."

She choked back a sob, and then lowered her guard. Now she realised that she had been selfish. Not only had she managed to single-handedly destroy Emma Frost's life as a individual actually dependent on her father, she had also managed to destroy her father's life, her father's one extra shot at having someone to love him. Now that he was ill and dying, he rejected all form of affection from Emma, and she knew, it was all her doing.

"Not Emma," she replied, her voice sounding slightly shaky. "Nor Ororo, or Hank." She tried to sound cheerful; a form of makeup that she felt she owed her father.

There was silence, a stunned one. Then Scott Summers rose from his seat and turned, eyes wide open, more alert than he had ever been since he had contracted the virus. He stood there, looking at her, drawing sharp breaths in such that she could hear him in the silence.

He had aged. Grey streaks now lined the side of his once all brown head of hair. His movements were slower, but his mind and thinking were still fast as lightning. And, above all, his pair of shades was still sitting firmly on his nose bridge. Despite attempts to cure him of the affliction, he still remained as he was. Out of control.

"Jean?" He shook his head a little, and then it dawned on him. "Ray?"

She nodded, unwilling to show her emotions, both frightened and nervous at what it might entail. Instead, she looked at the floor, not wanting to look directly at her father.

"I'm home," she said simply, sitting down on the edge of the single sized bed, and he doing the same. "I'm home," she repeated. He looked at her, part of him wanting forgiveness, and part of him just wanting her to leave the room immediately to stop this torture. Then, it happened. She looked him in the eye, then softened, allowing him to embrace her, just as fathers and daughters should. Unwittingly, the tears began to flow.

_**I am strong, when I am on your shoulders.**_

He coughed, and blood was on the tissue that he coughed into. He had never wanted her to be here; he wanted her to remember him as he was – strong, wonderful and fatherly. Yes, fatherly. He wanted her to remember the springs they spent in the gardens rolling in mud; the summers the spent on the beach on holiday; the autumns they had spent jumping into the leaf stack in the barn; and the winters they had spent by the fireplace, with him reading a fairytale to her and Jean watching the both of them, smiling contentedly.

Jean. Lord, he missed her.

And now Ray sat before him, a spitting image of his ex-wife.

"I'm so…" He started, but stopped when Ray shook her head.

"I should be the one who apologises," she said, tears coming to her eyes again. "I know you love mother, I know you do. I don't know what made me say all that to you that day. It's been so long, but it haunts me still." She wiped away the tears when the back of her hand. "I know you love mother, and I know you love me."

"I've missed you so, so much."

She was rambling, but it seemed like the only way to put together her thoughts that were scrambling all over the place.

"Please, please forgive me. And…" She stopped, afraid to say it as Scott gave another cough. More blood. But he hid it from her view, afraid to let her know the gravity of his condition.

"Don't leave me."

He stopped, glancing at her for a second, taking in the image of her tear stained face.

"I won't."

He crumpled the tissue and threw it into the bin.

"I love you."

_**You raise me up, to more than I can be.**_

It was spring again. Glorious spring. Rachel Summers allowed herself a moment of her time to stand before her father and just look at him. She never had the chance for such a long time, and she did not want to miss it out again. She had decided to move back into the mansion, just so that she could be near everyone, family and friends.

She went chattering off what she had done in the day. Logan being grumpy and growly to her in the morning without coffee. Storm trying (and failing) to help her curb her mischief with the constant reminders that she was twenty-one, not twelve. Gambit being corny during lesson time. Kitty and her hanging out and just being together as best friends should be, sans mischief, at least for the most part of the time (haha). She talked. And he listened.

She still felt regretful towards him, but she was making it up now, and hoping that he would be perceptive to her guilt and apologies. All she could do was to hope, anyway. There are many unspoken things between father and daughter, and this, was definitely one of them.

She could hear Emma calling for her again. Drat, she thought she had more time. But, she did not ignore the calling and ran inside. _Talk to you later._

She stepped through the front door, only pausing for a second to look outside to the white marble that was his tombstone. White. Pure. Beautiful. Wonderful. And how he would always live in her mind.

He was right. He would never leave her.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her and responding to the call with a yell.

"I love you."

_**You raise me up.**_

Dad.

_**To more than I can be.**_


End file.
